


fake it

by wreckmebro



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-18 22:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckmebro/pseuds/wreckmebro
Summary: Felix intends to empty his mind of everything but the thrill of battle. He fails.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> rated T for later chapters! i'm not certain how far i'll take this but i'm definitely just throwing a bunch of ideas i've had about them into one big nasty pining story so... bear with me through this journey i've never written multi-chap before lmao. enjoyyyy

Steel clashes against a dummy with a blunt sound. The noise echoes repeatedly throughout the training grounds, over, and over, and over. Felix is exhausted, wore down from cutting through training dummy after training dummy, but he continues his assault on the unsuspecting stuffing-filled opponent. He finally manages to cut through, fluff pouring out of the chest; he doesn't stop until it's cut completely in twain. His sword falls to the ground with a clatter as he stops to catch his breath.

"Another one," He pants, looking in the direction of the tournament overseer. The man looks around nervously before telling Felix he'd just annihilated the last dummy they had. Felix grunts in annoyance and picks up his sword. He wasn't sure how many he had torn up at this point in the day--it was nearing sunset and it hadn't felt like he'd been in the training grounds that long (though he usually spends the whole day there, anyway). As he sheathes the sword at his side, he exits the training grounds in a huff. _Time to go find someone willing to spar,_ he guesses.

His first thought is the professor--he usually has a moment to spare and train a bit with him. When he finds him, though, he's in the dining hall enjoying dinner with the boar prince, much to Felix's disgust. Seems afterward the two of them were going to do some planning to take out some thieves on the outskirts of the monastery grounds the following day, so either of them were a no-go. As if Felix would want to cross blades with Dimitri anyway.

Felix makes his rounds around the monastery, searching for the few people he trusts to fight with. It seemed to him that everyone he spoke to was either busy, getting ready to head in for the night, or simply didn't want to. He was becoming increasingly irritated as the evening dragged on.

He takes a moment to sit down in the knight's hall and polish up the Sword of Zoltan, normally tucked preciously at his hip. While preoccupied, he doesn't notice the figure that enters the hall and then promptly taps his shoulder from behind. It doesn't startle him; he's trained himself to not be spooked by oncoming enemies, so the mundane reaction his assailant gets is flavorless to him.

"Wow, not even a jump, huh?"

"What do you want, Sylvain?" Felix sighs, taking one last swipe of the cloth against his blade. It couldn't have been anyone else, could it? It just had to be the one person he wasn't in any sort of mood to converse with, didn't it?

"Just wondering who was camped out here alone in the dark," Sylvain teases, throwing his arms behind his head. "Should've suspected it was you, heh."

Felix's brow twitches in annoyance as he stands up, sheathing his sword. "Well, I'm leaving now."

"Hey, hold up, hold up!" Sylvain jumps in front of him, blockading the way to the exit. "Don't you wanna chat a little? Surely you've been honing your blade or whatever all day, let's relax before you just leave me hanging!"

His patience grows short. Felix doesn't want to look at him for any longer than he needs to. "Pass. Good night, Sylvain." Dismissing him with an arm against his side, he pushes him away and walks off to his room. It takes more strength than he wants to admit to avoid looking behind him, wanting to see Sylvain's expression as he is blatantly ignored.

* * *

The following day is relatively the same. Felix has been in this cycle of training with lifeless opponents for some time now, and nothing about it is thrilling. He wants real energy, a real fight. These faceless, emotionless dummies can't fight back, and that isn't what it's like on the real battlefield. Faced with war, Felix knows he should go out of his way again to find a willing sparring partner. He doesn't, though, knowing he'll be rejected by everyone once again. It doesn't make sense that nobody except for him is dedicating his time and energy to training his body and mind during a time like this. Besides, if he wasn't doing this, who knows where Felix would be right now? For now, this is all he can do. This is all he can think about. This is all that matters.

He wishes Sylvain would stop horsing around and fight with him. A particularly rough, angry flash of his blade hits the dummy. That good-for-nothing playboy is more than likely out gallivanting with some woman he just met, some woman who he'll treat for the day, then never speak to again. Another flash, and Felix's sword nearly goes flying out of his hands. Nothing pisses him off more than the idea of Sylvain painting on his fake façade and trotting around with girls like he doesn't know they'll eventually lose interest in his less-than-impressive personality. Acting as if he thinks they're attracted to him at all, they're all useless, horrible. Sylvain may be a complete imbecile, but those women he flaunts himself around are just as idiotic. He doesn't deserve to be used for his lineage, to be played around with and then tossed aside like a dusty, forgotten trophy. Why Sylvain gives his time, his attention, his affection to these non-essential girls, Felix will never understand. Felix lets out a furious battle cry and thrusts his weapon forward, skewering the helpless stuffed mannequin. His clenched hands tighten painfully hard around the hilt as he doubles over, breathing raggedly.

It takes a moment for Felix to collect his thoughts. He pounds one fist against the ground, frustrated, then pulls himself back up and dragging his hands down his face. Looking up to see his prized sword sticking out of the gut of a dummy makes him feel pathetic. As he yanks it out, some stuffing follows the fake wound, and Felix attempts to steel himself. Just as he thinks he's mentally prepared to begin his reckless assault again, he hears the large doors to the training grounds creak loudly.

Felix recognizes the face that enters, which is frankly out of the ordinary. _She never comes in here unless she's trying to bug me about something. Why now?_

"Felix. I figured I'd find you here." Ingrid says, smiling at him.

"What do you want?"

Ingrid's smile doesn't fade. Seems she's used to his bluntness by now. "I don't mean to bother you, really, but," She starts. Felix already feels his blood boiling. "You've been acting strange lately. I'm worried about you."

Felix glances back at her, sword still pointed at the training dummy. "I'm fine, thanks. Bye."

Ingrid sighs. "I'm not leaving, Felix. Something's bugging you, right? After knowing you for so long, I can see these sort of things. Changes in your personality, and the like." She hangs her head, but Felix doesn't give her anything more than the look over his shoulder. "You're blunt and cold, we're all used to that. But, it's different. You're even more distant than usual."

"So what?"

"Is something on your mind? You know you can tell me if something is wrong." Ingrid says, stepping within Felix's field of vision.

"Nothing is on my mind except the goal of tearing into this opponent with my blade." Felix says, tapping his sword against the shoulder of the dummy.

"So it's so bad that you won't even train with a real person."

"Obviously I don't want to tear a real person in half." Felix rolls his eyes. "I'm in a mood to split something down the middle, and I think it'd be problematic if I did that to one of your friends."

Ingrid steps out of the way as Felix raises his sword. Swiftly, he brings the weapon down onto the training dummy, as hard and fast as he can manage. Much to his dismay, he pulls away the sword with only a minor split in its shoulder. Felix groans in frustration, hitting the same spot until it tears open. He throws his sword to the side, narrowly avoiding Ingrid's ankles.

"...Seriously, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Can you go now?" Felix glares daggers in her direction. Ingrid looks to the side, nervous.

"May I at least give you some critique?" Ingrid suggests, pointing a finger at the now-maimed training dummy.

"Fine."

She steps over and drags a finger along the cuts in the taut fabric, tracing the very, very sloppy slices that Felix had created. "Usually your technique isn't this... rough, Felix. I know you were trying to hit that same spot to create a clean cut, but you just didn't do it here."

Felix's fists tighten at his sides. "Your point?"

"You're not performing like usual. Your cuts aren't clean, you're more exhausted than you normally are when you train like this, and not to mention--you were holding your sword in a way I'd never seen you hold it before." Ingrid looks up at him, brows furrowed and mouth pulled tightly into a concerned frown.

"That's enough critique for today." The bite in his tone is harsh. "You can leave now."

Ingrid sighs, defeated. As she leaves the training grounds, she leaves Felix with a fleeting "Don't say I didn't try to help you," and the large iron doors close, kicking up dust behind them.

Felix resorts to sitting on the ground, grabbing his sword on the way. He stares from a distance at the dummy, thinking for a minute about what Ingrid said about his sloppy work. She was right, and he hates to admit that she was, but every slash in that plush enemy was off. Only slightly, but still noticeable. It irritated him. He irritated himself. Training like this was his way of escaping his thoughts, escaping any troubles that plagued him when his mind was unoccupied. Swinging his sword and enjoying the thrill of battle was what kept him going, what kept him from sinking into self-hatred and regret and _jealousy._

No, what? What was he jealous of? There was nothing, obviously. Felix wasn't the type to dwell on emotions like that, he would cut them in half, just like he did that dummy--but like the dummy, he cut them away--sloppily. Messily. Just as he was failing to slice a fake opponent to nothingness, he was failing to cut and chip away those feelings that ate at his brain. They distracted him from what really mattered--making himself stronger, faster, better. Yet, he couldn't get rid of them. Thoughts continued to grow and become more powerful than him, causing his grip on the hilt of his sword to falter only slightly. The slight falter in a real fight that could cost him his life.

He wouldn't tell anyone. Nothing anyone could tell him to do would help. The only person who could do anything for him was himself, and he'd accepted that truth nine years ago.

Felix leaves the training grounds unsatisfied that night. It's already dark by the time he finally decides to head in for the night. As he goes to open the door to his room, he's stopped by a familiar face.

"Hey, training late again?" Sylvain leans against the door frame.

No, absolutely not, not tonight. Felix twists the doorknob open and heads inside without a word.

"Whoa, hey!" Sylvain swiftly catches the door as Felix is about to shut it on him. "You just gonna ignore me like that, again? What's up with you?"

"I don't have time for banter, Sylvain. I'm going to sleep." Felix avoids eye contact with him. It's dark, but the few candles still lit in the hallway give off a dim glow far too intimate for Felix's liking.

"Ah, alright, I mean, you do look pretty exhausted. Were you slapping around dummies all day again?" Sylvain asks, opening the door a bit more as Felix's gloved hands begin to give.

He has to give as fleeting answers as possible--to keep his mind clear. "Yeah."

"Y'know, if you get bored of that, you can always ask me to spar with you." Sylvain smiles, tilting his head just slightly. The slight illumination behind him bounces off the tips of his red hair, bathing him in soft light. "I know what you're thinking, but I swear I'll do it. I mean, it's not like I'd ever turn you down."

Something jumps in Felix's chest. Just heartburn from straining himself for too long. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." He begins to shut the door again, beaten by the strength of his friend, who simply continues to push back against him.

"Why're you so adamant on getting rid of me? I just wanted to chat and say good night, Felix." Sylvain's lip juts out ever-so-slightly, pouting. Felix silently asks him to not to look at him like that. "I know you're tired, but... I don't know. It feels like we never talk anymore."

Felix sighs quietly. "Sorry. Dedicating my time to more important things."

Sylvain's frown deepens, and he drops his arms to the sides. His frown quickly fades, however, and he gives Felix a sincere smile. "I know you don't mean that, so I'm not gonna worry about it. Anyway, good night--ah! Actually, wait! Don't close the door, yet! I'll be right back!"

Felix releases a harsh breath from his nose as Sylvain darts from his doorway. He waits, impatiently, deciding to just sit down and start removing his boots and gloves as Sylvain does whatever it is he's doing. He sets them aside then unclasps his sheathed sword from his hip, laying it against his bedside table. Just as he's about to pull his ponytail from its band, Sylvain appears back in his doorway.

"Hey, so," Sylvain starts, entering Felix's room without permission. Not that he particularly needs it. "Those candies you gave me the other day? They were pretty good. Whichever girl gave them to you was probably really interested in you."

Felix just stares blankly at him, the irritation in his eyes increasing by the second.

"Uh, anyway. I got you something in return. Y'know, to thank you." Sylvain reaches his hand out, and in it, lies a small rectangular red box. Not particularly fancy by any means, but it's clearly been packaged neatly with a tight little ribbon around it, holding the box to its top.

Felix takes it from him, eyeing it suspiciously. "What is this?"

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. "D-Don't make it weird or anything, just, uh, open it after I leave, okay? I don't want to see the look on your face if you hate it." He laughs, suddenly bashful.

_No matter how stupid it is, I couldn't hate anything you give me._ Felix thinks absently. He quickly dismisses the thought and paints on the slightest smile. "Thanks, Sylvain." He sets the small gift to the side, and, without thinking another second, removes the band holding his hair up. His raven locks cascade down onto his shoulders as he runs a few fingers through the loose sides.

When he looks back up, Sylvain is still there, staring at him. As their gazes meet, Sylvain jerks in surprise.

"Whoa. I, uh," He pauses, and for a second, Felix considers shooing him out of the room as aggressively as possible. He doesn't. "I haven't seen you with your hair down for a long time."

Embarrassment starts to burn at Felix's cheeks, not realizing that something like that was going to catch Sylvain's attention, but he forces it back. "Yeah, well, it gets in the way when it's like this, but I don't really want to cut it."

"You probably don't care what I think, but I wouldn't want you to cut it either." Sylvain comments, nonchalantly striding toward the door again. "I'm used to seeing your cute little ponytail, y'know? It'd throw me off if it wasn't there anymore."

Ignoring that last little bit, Felix ruffles up his hair a little. "You should go to bed. You're talking so loud, you might awaken the beast next door and he'll come biting at your head."

Sylvain laughs and nods in agreement. "You're probably right. Well, if you wanna train together or anything tomorrow, let me know. Oh, uh, but like, around sunset is best, I have a couple dates lined up, heh. Can't leave 'em hanging, y'know?"

_Could've left without that last part. Get out, already._

"G'night, Felix."

"Good night." As Sylvain closes the door, Felix slaps his hands over his face and groans.

He rubs his eyes for a short second, then looks to his side where the small present still lay. Hesitantly, he picks it up, undoing the ribbon. The top slides off easily, revealing its contents. A small, folded piece of torn parchment lies on top, reading "**LOOK AT THIS AFTERWARDS**" in large sloppy handwriting. He sighs, setting it aside. Inside the box is a pathetic looking piece of chocolate. _What an idiot,_ Felix thinks, _he clearly knows I don't like sweet things._

That piece of parchment might say something about it. He examines it, reading the message written on the back:

_Hey, I know what you're thinking. "That idiot knows I don't like sweets! What the hell is this?" But hear me out! I came across a merchant selling these "spicy candies", so I grabbed some spiced chocolate from him. Not sure if it's any more spicy than sweet, but knowing you like spicy stuff was enough to give it a shot. I hope you like it, my friend._

Felix's expression softens as he sets the note down on his bedside table. After picking up the chocolate and examining it for a second, he takes an apprehensive nibble. He does notice a bit of spice to it, though he can't particularly make out the specific flavor. It's a relatively mild flavor overall, something akin to what Felix normally describes having a fondness to. Sylvain really put thought into buying this for him. Felix shakes his head furiously.

_Still too sweet._ Felix's brows knit together as he tosses the candy across the room. It lands on his desk instead of the garbage can, but he decides he's too tired to walk over and deposit it in its rightful place.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up feels like walking backwards into the eternal flames. Everything in Felix's body aches--he presses a palm to his head, damning himself. He knew he overexerted himself yesterday. Pulling his unbrushed, unwashed hair into a tight ponytail, he dresses himself as usual, and heads out with the goal of ignoring the thrumming sting in his shoulder. 

It wasn't uncommon to feel achey after a day of hard training, but Felix did this kind of thing daily. As he makes his way down the second floor dormitory hall, he mulls over in his head what he must've done wrong to hurt himself like this. It had to be something related to what Ingrid pointed out--his poor form and technique that day. 

A few people call out to him, saying their typical good mornings and whatnot. Felix simply gives them an affirmative noise, or a fleeting "morning", walking past them without giving anyone his immediate attention. It was still early--likely earlier than Felix should've woken up. He'd stayed up late last night, tossed and turned for awhile in a failed attempt to get his brain to be quiet. How many times his elbows and knees hit the hard wood of the wall next to him, he wasn't certain. That may be another factor of the pain in his joints. 

The daily training meeting held by Byleth (as well as Dimitri, who was assisting him in specific tactical fields) went by without issue. Or, so Felix thought. His old professor dismissed everyone, giving them a general task to complete that day in preparation for their next plan of attack. The goal of getting to Enbarr was still a ways out--they had a lot of prep work to do before they were ready to face the Empire head-on.

Felix stops in his tracks when Byleth quietly calls out to him. Looks like slipping through the crowd with everyone else and escaping to the training grounds was out of the question for now.

"What?" Felix's tone is snappier than intended. 

Byleth gestures for him to take a seat next to him. Felix sighs, complying. "I've been given notice of an problem you're having, Felix." The professor looks him up and down, his body unmoving. It's standard issue--Felix is used to his teacher examining him for any anomalies. This just feels... different. As if he's analyzing his mind more than his physique.

Felix stops to realize what he means by that. Ingrid probably informed him of his pathetic performance yesterday evening. "Yeah? What might that be?" He asks, voice mocking. 

Byleth shakes his head and tries to meet Felix's eyes. "You've been spending more time than usual at the training grounds. It seems nearly everyone is worried about you." 

Felix clicks his teeth. "Is that all?" 

"Ingrid told me about yesterday. Don't think I haven't noticed the same thing during skirmishes." Byleth says, voice flat, yet still somehow filled with care and concern. 

That second statement makes Felix's eyebrow raise. "You mean I've been pathetic on the battlefield, and you didn't tell me?" 

Byleth's frown only grows. "I assumed you were only having an off day. I apologize for not bringing it to your attention sooner." The professor begins sifting through some papers on the desk, arranging them in some way that Felix doesn't quite understand. "Please, use more care when training your body for so long. Don't overdo it and get reckless."

He raises from the seat, back aching as he moves his muscles. "Hah, reckless? Who do you take me for? The boar? Sylvain?" His eye twitches as he heads toward the door. "No way. I'll do better. I can always do better."

The concern on Byleth's face doesn't fade, but he smiles nonetheless. "I expect no less. However, I must advise you on one more thing." 

Felix barely glances over his shoulder.The irritation begins to scratch at his skin, hairs on his arms prickling as he predicts his teacher's next words. "What?" 

A gloved hand gingerly clasps the swordsman's shoulder."Talk to your friends, Felix." Byleth says dismissively. He turns back with books and papers in hand, the long sleeves of his overcoat disappearing into the hall.

What was there to talk about? He was fine. It was just a rough week. A rough moon. A rough seventeen years. 

Felix grips his fists tightly and storms off in a predictable direction. He's certain he's bore a permanent triangular path in the floor and dirt from his room, to the meeting hall, to the training grounds. 

Someone's there when he arrives, enthusiastically swinging a lance at one of the few training dummies they have left. They turn around as the large doors come closed. 

"Oh, Felix! Hello," Ashe greets, wiping some sweat from his brow. "Is this, uh, your training dummy? I can use a different one, if you want."

That's strange, Ashe usually doesn't train here, and he definitely never trains here by himself. Maybe he was waiting for a partner to spar with. Blood rushes in Felix's veins when he thinks of fighting an actual person for the first time in who-knows-how-long. 

"No, continue. I'd like to evaluate your form." Felix says, stepping behind him with crossed arms.

Ashe gives him an incredulous look. "A-Are you sure? I doubt it'll be very interesting."

When Felix nods, Ashe replies with a shaky "okay," and begins slashing and thrusting at the chest of the dummy. Felix watches intently as he notices that every strike, every stab, every swing of the lance is precise, hitting what would be exact weak points on a real enemy. The way Ashe twirls his spear is also spectacular, and when he brings it down hard on the worn shoulder of the dummy, it splits, the stuffed arm falling unceremoniously onto the dirt floor.

Ashe looks over expectantly, catching his breath. "W-Well? How was that?"

Felix doesn't want to be as speechless as he is. Ashe had successfully pulled off what he had attempted last night, with much more style, grace and strength. The cut was clean, the execution was flawless. He pretends not to be bothered.

"Impressive." It's not a lie by any means, Felix is thoroughly impressed. He'd be even moreso if the crushing pathetic feeling of failure wasn't manifesting as a two-ton weight on his shoulders. "With moves like that, maybe you'll even beat me one day." He knows Ashe could, and would beat him, right here, right now, if he asked him to spar.

Ashe's cheeks flush with the praise. "Wow, thanks, Felix. Um, if you really want to, we could put that to the test right now?" 

He was suggesting a fight. Felix wanted that to begin with. Someone, anyone who would cross blades with him. Ashe was a good, honest person. If he tried hard enough, Ashe would admit defeat if he felt he was pushed too hard. 

That confidence that Felix normally had, the voice in his brain always telling him he could take on anyone, was not there. 

"Actually, I'm heading to the dining hall. I'll take up your offer another time." 

"Ah, wait, Felix!" 

He hesitates. There was concern in Ashe's voice, just as there had been in everyone's he'd spoken to of late. 

"You're normally always jumping on the opportunity to spar. I heard from Ingrid--"

Great.

"--That you haven't been feeling well. I don't want to pry, or bother you, I promise. If something's wrong, you can always confide in me." Ashe's voice gets louder, and Felix can only assume he's approaching.

Instead of dodging the subject entirely, he gives a vague reply as he narrowly avoids physical contact with the other man. He pushes the doors open. "You wouldn't understand." 

* * *

The dining hall has little to no traffic, much to Felix's delight. He picked up a little something from Dedue, who had cooked a little extra food in case someone was late to lunch. Everyone had already finished their midday meal, or were in the process of cleaning up. The low hum of chatter from the few people still in the building was quiet, and honestly soothing.

Felix bites into the meat of the poultry, focusing on the interesting, likely Duscur-inspired seasoning on the food. _For a lapdog, he cooks surprisingly well._

The familiar flavor of the spice brings a memory to the surface, and Felix suddenly finds himself losing his appetite. Then, a flash of red appears in his peripheral vision. 

"This seat taken?" Sylvain winks as he slides into the spot across from him. 

"Actually, yeah, it is." Felix says blandly, fork halfway in his mouth. 

The surprised look on Sylvain's face almost makes him want to laugh. Almost. "No way, don't tell me you have a date and didn't tell me about it first!?" 

Any urge to chuckle is swallowed down along with the angry bite Felix takes of his food. He doesn't answer, simply staring at him; Sylvain knows the answer. What a stupid question. If he was saving a seat for anyone--it'd be for the person currently occupying that space. Felix's fork lands down on his plate with a loud clatter.

"I'm joking, I'm joking! No need to give me the death glare." Sylvain laughs, throwing his hands up in surrender. He doesn't have a plate in front of him, so Felix assumes he's just here to give him a bad time. 

"Did you need something, or did you just come to annoy me?" 

Judging by Sylvain's expression, the way Felix is even chewing his food must be giving off bad vibes. "You wound me, Felix. I came to actually ask you for some advice."

Felix raises an eyebrow. "For?"

"Well..." Sylvain's pitch raises an octave.

_Oh, that's a great sign,_ Felix thinks as Sylvain begins to speak, the tone in his voice matching the same intensity as when he's about to spill his guts on the table whining about some woman. "There's this girl..." 

_There it is._

Felix stands up without a word, unfinished meal in hand. 

"Wait, let me finish, please!" Sylvain reaches across the table and grabs at Felix's sleeve, pulling him back down into his seat. Felix groans at the other's strength, contesting him subconsciously. "It's not what you think, I swear." 

The swordsman sighs for what feels like the thousandth time today. He bats away Sylvain's grabby fingers and sits. Expectant, tired eyes glare like daggers in Sylvain's direction. This had better be good.

It's Sylvain's turn to sigh. He looks disheartened, as he tends to look after getting rejected or dumped by yet another random girl he'd chatted up that day. "There's a girl. You know that part. I think it's really going somewhere with her, honestly, and I need you to do something for me." 

Felix suddenly couldn't be more unenthused about anything in his entire _life._ "What?" 

"I need you to help me make her lose interest in me." Sylvain says, hands folded in front of his face. It doesn't seem like he's joking. "She's great and all, don't get me wrong. But she's suuuuper clingy, like I can't get her to leave me alone." Another sigh. "Usually I can make a girl lose interest in me, _quick,_ but nothing's working with her. I think she's hellbent on getting a crest baby from me." 

Felix just stares. "Are you kidding?"

"Not at all. Can you do something about it? Please? I'll repay you, somehow, I promise." Sylvain slumps down onto the table, arms reached out toward his friend, pleading. Felix takes a bit of pride when Sylvain so desperately needs him in order to get out of a situation. Not that it's his favorite thing to do--getting him out of relationships he obviously stuck himself in--but boy, the suggestion of getting a girl _off of Sylvain and away from him_ is just too delicious to reject. 

For Sylvain's own good, that is. He doesn't need some flighty, clingy woman jointed to his hip like that. 

"Yeah, sure. I've got nothing better to do." 

Sylvain's face practically glows. His grateful smile illuminates the entire dining hall in a sunny light, as if his happiness was attuned to a candle that had just been lit. It's much brighter than a candle, though, so much brighter that Felix finds it difficult to look directly at him. "Thank you so much! I swear I'll make it up to you." He grabs Felix's gloved hands in his own, giving them a firm squeeze. 

Felix shoves down the sides of his mouth that begin to creep up. "Yeah, yeah. Where can we find her?" 

* * *

Trying to hunt down yet another of Sylvain's girlfriends was less fun than Felix even imagined. This was a stupid idea, and why he agreed to it he can't remember until he looks at Sylvain's distraught expression as he darts his eyes around campus, on the lookout for her. It was that idiot's own fault for hooking up with strangers like this--Felix can't recall a time where a girl had ever treated his friend with respect. He simply had a feeling of obligation to help him whenever he was in trouble.

He really wishes Sylvain would stop. If he were a more devout man, he'd be _praying_ for it. 

Felix feels a grasp on his arm, and he's suddenly being pulled behind a bush. He yelps at the contact and is promptly pulled flush against Sylvain's side. "Shh! I see her." 

Wiggling out of Sylvain's hold, he peeks out of the bushes and in the direction Sylvain is gesturing. Yep, just as he suspected, she looks just as non-descript as every other woman the redhead has courted in the past. When he glances over at his friend, he's biting the leather of his glove, looking nervous.

"Another looker, I see." Felix teases. 

"Listen, she came onto me, alright? I thought she was nice at first, but it's getting too weird, even for me." Sylvain crouches lower, completely out of view, bringing Felix back down with him. "What's your plan?" 

Felix pretends to think about it for a minute. He knows what he's going to do, but seeing Sylvain get increasingly worried that the girl might approach them is, honestly, more amusing than he'd admit. "Don't worry." Felix waves him off and walks in the woman's direction, grabbing her attention with a blunt "Hey, you". 

"A-Are you talking to me?" She stutters. 

"Yeah. Sylvain isn't interested in you." Felix crosses his arms authoritatively. 

The girl gives him an incredulous look. "Excuse me?" 

"You heard me. He's with someone else." Felix can only imagine what Sylvain is thinking while watching this. "So if you could back off, I'm sure he'd appreciate it." 

He expects that to be it, fully contented in waiting for the girl to huff at him and run off, just as many before her have done--until Felix notices her drawing something small and silver from the hilt at her side. 

Felix doesn't have much time to react before she bolts in his direction, shouting furiously, dagger in hand. He narrowly avoids a slash against his ear, watching as a few of his hairs are chopped off by the blow. This girl doesn't let up, she continues to scream horribly loud, swinging the short blade wildly, just barely missing Felix every time. She manages to snag a bit of his furred cape, and as the knife digs into it, Felix's attempt to get away is hindered--he begins to fall to the ground. 

"Sylvain is mine, mine! I'll be the one to extend his bloodline, I'll be the one to inherit all the benefits of marrying a royal with a Crest!" 

_Clink._

That's the sound of metal against metal, but Felix isn't wearing any armor, nor does he have a weapon drawn. He suddenly feels warmth against his back and hands around his waist that save him from hitting the cobblestone beneath. He gives his attention back to the scene, where Sylvain is holding him upright, glaring at Felix's assailant. She looks as though she's seen a ghost, hands trembling as she drops the dagger and it goes clattering to the ground. 

"Sylvain..." She whimpers, bringing her hands up to her face. "I..."

Felix sees anger burning in Sylvain's eyes that he's never seen before. He's practically _growling_ with fury. "Leave. You are a disgusting excuse for a human being. I don't want to see hind nor tail of you, ever again."

The girl opens her mouth to say something else, but Sylvain barks back at her before she can say a single word. "I said, _leave!_"

Tears in her eyes, she dashes off, leaving her weapon behind. 

Warm hands still at his back move to Felix's hand, grasping it to help him back to his feet. Felix turns to face him, and the burning hatred in his eyes has dissipated, replaced now with a look of guilt and concern. He places a hand on Felix's shoulder. 

"Are you alright? Did she hurt you? Should I escort you to the infirmary?" His questions come out one after the other, not giving the other man a chance to reply. 

Felix manages a weak smile. "No, she didn't hurt me, are you kidding me? Who do you think I am?" He brushes off his opposite shoulder and examines the tear in his cape. Not a big deal. "You think I'd lose to some weakling like that?" 

Sylvain smiles, dropping his hand to his side. "I'm sorry I made you do that. I guess I should've handled the problem on my own, heh. It was my own fault to begin with. At least we got rid of her, right?" He chuckles nervously. 

He's right, and Felix knew that from the beginning. Turning him down was never an option, though. Being put in danger like that doesn't phase him anymore--he faces blades three times that size on the regular. And yet, he had faltered back there. Tripped, like a clumsy trainee. Sylvain had saved him, again, just as he has dozens of times on the battlefield. Guilt runs cold through Felix's veins for only a second before he feels Sylvain's arms wrap around him. 

He freezes, appalled. "What--" 

"Really, Felix. I'm sorry. I'll make this up to you, just like I said." 

The embrace is tight and binding. Felix isn't certain how to react, it sort of feels like his entire head is going numb. Even with his heavy armor on, Sylvain's body is warm; his strong arms are holding him snugly. Felix sheds a piece of himself away and melts into the hug, returning it by snaking his arms up Sylvain's back. He closes his eyes for a moment, committing this to memory before they both break away. 

Felix holds an arm up to his face, hiding the slight flush on his cheeks. "Thanks for saving me again, even though I told you before that I hate it when you do that." 

Sylvain just grins at him. "I knew you could handle it yourself, I just can't stand seeing you in harm's way." The redhead then looks to the side and down. The attempted murder weapon still lay there where his now-ex-girlfriend had dropped it. Sylvain picks it up and examines it. He doesn't say anything before waltzing over to the nearest garbage receptacle and promptly disposing of it. 

"So. Now that that's over with..." Sylvain adjusts a piece of armor on his wrist. "Want to go spar?" 

Being the victim of an attack by a random village girl, as well as the recipient of Sylvain's chivalry, weren't exactly the most motivating things. Felix wanted so badly to beat himself up over his mistake--his poor movement that nearly got him stabbed by a possessive fleeting date. For once this week, he doesn't. Training was important. Sparring with real people for practice was important. _Sylvain_ was important. 

With Sylvain's delicate "love life" taken care of for the moment, he hopes the redhead won't use this time to talk about girls, or dates, or anything of the sort. They can train together in the way that Felix enjoys--just the two of them, wrestling around like they're children again, play-fighting until they've exhausted themselves.

"Yeah," Felix says, striding ahead of Sylvain toward the training grounds. "I'd like that."


	3. Chapter 3

There's nothing calculated or graceful about the way Felix and Sylvain fight that evening. Sylvain stays on the defensive, blocking every blow that Felix's dulled training sword deals to him. There's a mix of frustration and passion in Felix's eyes -- he's usually able to get a few hits on him quick and easy. The next swing of his weapon creates a loud blunt sound as it crashes down on the hard wood of Sylvain's lance, buckling only slightly beneath the sword as Felix pushes forward. It's not necessarily a hit, but it manages to make Sylvain lose his footing and step back to recollect himself.

"Jeez, what's up with you?" He teases casually. "What's the matter? A little rough around the edges after being attacked by a puny girl?"

The stupid smug look on his face is enough to make Felix lunge at him full force. He blocks the assault, again, and Felix comes crashing against him as the pressure building between the two weapons slips.

Sylvain catches him in his arms for the second time that day, laughing all the while. "Alright, alright. Think that's enough for today. Clearly you're off your game."

Felix pushes away from him with a frustrated grunt, picking up his training sword and promptly swinging at Sylvain's legs. He jumps, avoiding the blow. "Nice try!"

Another frustrated noise. The training sword drops to the ground. What's wrong with him? Is he not pushing himself hard enough? Should he dedicate every waking second of his life to honing the blade, only stopping to sleep as little as needed, to eat as little as needed?

When he diverts his attention back, Sylvain is crouched down next to him, frowning. Felix doesn't remember sitting down. "Hey, everyone has those days, y'know? Let's try again tomorrow, I'm sure you could whoop my ass after getting some rest." A comforting hand lays on his shoulder.

Felix doesn't want to look at him. Whenever he does, the grip on his sword loosens, the focus in his eyes shift. He can't possibly beat him when everything the man does is distracting. Why, though? Why only now is it so jarring to look him in the eye?

"I don't need your pity." Felix spits, removing Sylvain's hand and standing back up.

Sylvain stands up with him. "Honestly, I think you do. You aren't accepting anyone's comfort, Felix. I'm worried about you."

This again. It stings the most hearing it from him. It was bad enough getting this spiel from Ingrid, from Ashe, from his professor. There's so much concern in Sylvain's voice -- the kind of concern that only someone who really knows him and cares about him could carry.

"You've been sleeping enough, yeah? Maybe I should keep an eye on you and make sure you're taking care of yourself. No one ever sees you outside of this place anymore." Sylvain looks at his feet, kicking the dust. Felix notices his hand reach for him again, but he quickly withdraws it after making split-second eye contact. Felix must look an absolute wreck.

"If something's bugging you, tell me. Even if it's dumb, I promise I won't laugh."

"It doesn't concern you."

_It does. It does. It completely, entirely does._

Sylvain scowls, looking akin to an injured dog. "I'm your friend, right? And as your friend, if something's on your mind, I should know about it. Especially if it's affecting you this much."

Felix's hands ball into tight fists at his side. He gets the urge to throw a punch at him, but at the same time, that's the last thing he wants to do. Sylvain is only trying to help -- he knows that. He knows that everyone is just trying to get him out of whatever this hole is that he's dug himself into. His pride just won't let him accept that truth, and won't let him accept that he _is stuck_, and that he _does need help_.

Feelings are best pushed back and ignored. There are more important things in life than staying hung up over your best friend constantly picking strangers over you.

He turns away from Sylvain, leaving his last concerned statement unreplied to. As he makes his way to the exit of the training grounds, he knows Sylvain is following him.

"Hey, alright. I get it, you don't want to talk about it. How about we go get some drinks? Maybe that'll get your mind off of... whatever it is your mind is on." The redhead steps in front of him, shoulders shrugged in suggestion.

_Impossible, considering the "whatever" is standing right in front of me and refuses to leave me alone._

Drinks. Sylvain obviously means alcohol -- something that would numb Felix's brain enough to distract him from this disgusting feeling. Neither of them much cared for alcohol typically; they'd have an ale every now and then during victory celebrations, but other than that, Felix found most alcoholic beverages to be, well, gross.

Despite that, it didn't sound like such a bad idea. Maybe loosening up with a cider or something was what he needed tonight.

"Fine. Just this once."

* * *

  
It's dark by the time the two of them reach the dining hall. Save for the few guards still on duty, everyone had turned in for the night, leaving the monastery grounds relatively silent.

Sylvain is rummaging through the cabinets behind the serving area as if searching for a secret stash. Felix sincerely hopes he doesn't have one of those.

"Ha! Found it!" Sylvain cheers, holding up a dusty, medium-sized bottle of what appears to be red wine. "I stowed this away in case of emergency."

Felix rolls his eyes. "What kind of emergency would call for gross old wine?"

Grabbing a couple of glasses and sitting down at the closest table, Sylvain smiles sincerely at him. "The 'my-best-friend-is-feeling-shitty-and-needs-to-lighten-up' kind."

Something pulls at Felix's chest as he decides to seat himself across from the other. Sylvain smiles and pours two glasses full, graciously sliding one over to Felix. He eyes the unfamiliar liquid as if examining it for poison.

"Try it." Sylvain presses, nudging an elbow in his direction.

Felix takes an experimental sip as Sylvain's sparkling eyes watch him intently, gauging his reaction. The tartness lingers on his tongue for an unpleasant moment.

"I don't like it." Felix scowls.

"Come on, you barely took a sip. You'll like it more the more you drink." Sylvain says, taking a generous drink from his glass.

Felix rolls his eyes. He takes a larger drink anyway, and it's still gross. He'll have to just suck it up if he wants to stay on the same level as Sylvain, who tends to get carried away rather quickly on the rare occasion they drink together.

The lighting in the dining hall is little to none -- save for the illumination of the nearly full moon outside. Sylvain drinks ungracefully, wiping his mouth with a gloved thumb when some of the alcohol dribbles down his lip. Something about the way that gentle light reflects off of Sylvain's lips is--

Felix swallows his prejudices toward wine and takes a drink, then another.

"Hey, there you go! I told you, it just takes a few drinks to get used to it!" Sylvain laughs, reaching across the table and patting Felix's shoulder playfully. The touch feels like pins and needles.

The night drags on as they drink -- Felix isn't feeling it yet, but by the soft pink tint in his friend's cheeks, he can tell Sylvain has had his fill. After putting away about half the bottle, Felix knows he's going to have to do something about him shortly. Still, he looks vulnerable, almost cute, like this. Almost.

"Felix," the redhead slurs, "Do-- do you think anyone will ever, like, _really_ love me, for somethin' other than my Crest?"

Felix quickly realizes he isn't drunk enough for this. He takes another decent gulp of the sickly red liquid. "Why are you asking me?"

Sylvain pouts, slouching over the table, cheek pressed against the cool wood. "I don't know. I feel like you know me better than I do myself," He sighs, "There's gotta be someone, right? At this point, I'm not picky. I just want someone to care about _me_."

It's not like him to get sentimental like this -- not even while intoxicated, Felix thinks. It must've been brought on by the incident earlier, and what that girl said. Felix knows that Sylvain only plays around to try to make himself feel better about his own insecurities, the sting of knowing that women only want him for inheritance. Sylvain rarely shows that weakness, but when he does, it's pitiful.

Despite it all, Felix doesn't know what to say. His brain is shouting, screaming at him to keep his honest words locked inside, never to be heard.

"Don't act so pathetic, it's not like you. You'll find someone." Felix swirls the drink in his cup, staring intently at it. If he doesn't look at Sylvain, this conversation can be far less tense. He takes another quick swig.

He feels a hand press against the sleeve of his overcoat. Sylvain is whining. Felix makes the mistake of looking dead into his eyes -- they're soft, half-lidded. He's not crying, but he can definitely see a look of sorrow tugging at his eyelids.

"_You_ at least care about me, right, Felix?"

His chest tightens; he places a hand over Sylvain's. "Of course I do, idiot." He turns away, a flush creeping onto his face. Felix isn't sure if it's from how embarrassing this moment is or from the amount of alcohol he's pouring into his body. When he looks back, Sylvain is smiling dazedly, head rested against his arm folded on the table. His face has gotten redder since he last checked. That expression looks much better on him than the pathetic one he had on just a minute ago.

Suddenly, Sylvain starts to chuckle, small hiccups escaping between breaths.

"What's so funny?" Felix raises an eyebrow at him.

He can hear the kicking of feet under the table. "Nothing. You're just kind of cute when you're all embarrassed like that."

Felix swallows the humiliation that comes with that comment, as well as another sip of wine. When he sets the glass down, he stands up -- far too quickly, however, as his head spins a bit with the minor intoxication. "Alright, you're done. I'm taking you to your room."

A low whine comes from the other man. "Aww, cutting the party short already?"

"I said, you're _done_. I bet you can't even stand up." Felix scowls, crossing his arms.

"Just you watch me." Sylvain boasts, gripping the edge of the table and hoisting himself up. He manages to stand up, but not without stumbling just slightly when he gets closer to Felix. "See? I've got it handled."

Just as he says that, he trips over the leg of the table and has to catch himself on Felix's shoulders. Felix, himself, nearly topples over from the sheer weight of his friend grabbing him so suddenly.

Felix sighs, holding Sylvain's bulky arm in his hands. "Right. Here, put your arm around me." He says, already guiding it up around his own shoulder. Sylvain leans against him comfortably, mumbling something and resting his head against Felix's for a short moment.

"Mm. Thanks, buddy." Sylvain slurs as they make their way out of the dining hall. It's only when they're already near the fishing grounds that Felix remembers they left the half-empty bottle of wine out on one of the dining tables. He's too tired to care or to scold Sylvain for it.

* * *

They're both exhausted when they reach the last room of the second floor dormitory hall. Why did Sylvain's room have to be at the very end? Felix tiredly removes Sylvain's arm from around his shoulders, causing the other man to collapse forward onto his bed, still fully armed.

"You can't sleep like that, you half-wit." Felix grumbles, kicking the bottoms of Sylvain's boots.

Sylvain just moans something into the pillow and doesn't move. Felix will surely be filled with residual guilt if he just leaves him to pass out helplessly, armor encumbering any comfort he'd normally get. Reluctantly, he places his hands on Sylvain's back and starts unlacing and unbuckling some things. One by one, the redhead is undressed of his gauntlets and spaulders; Felix carelessly throws them in the corner of his room. He's too tired and buzzed for this.

"If you want your chest plate off, you have to get up."

Sylvain groans, hesitantly rolling over onto his back. Slowly, he rises to sit up. "Feels kinda good to be spoiled like this, heh."

"Shut up." Felix says, unstrapping some belts at his sides. He peels off the cuirass and, more carefully, sets it in the pile of Sylvain's armor he's created. Once completely free of any metal parts, Sylvain yawns and stretches, the red of his overcoat wrinkling with the motion.

"Mm, if you're too tired to walk to your room, y'know, you could always just sleep here with me." Sylvain winks, but in his drunken state, it's more of a blink. Felix would stifle a chuckle if his face wasn't filling with color.

Felix can't seem to push the thoughts back. He tries, desperately, not to think about what Sylvain has insinuated. It'd be really, really nice right now to just lie down next to him in this haze, maybe curl up at his side. Sylvain would wrap an arm around him, pull him as close as he could -- Felix would nuzzle into the crook of his neck, finding that perfect spot to snuggle into --

"Fine." Part of him instantly regrets that agreement. The other part is relieved he's finally been honest.

Felix strips himself of his leather pads, boots, and overcoat, leaving him in a black long-sleeved turtleneck. Subconsciously, his hand reaches up to the band tying his hair up. He notices Sylvain staring at him.

Felix freezes, suddenly self-conscious. "What?"

"Nothing. I just want to see how it looks when your hair falls down onto your shoulders again." He sounds completely, utterly drunk, but not in the way Felix is used to.

It takes Felix a moment to garner the energy to pull the band from his hair. It releases, flowing down and settling over his shoulders. Sylvain's face is painted with a warm smile as he continues to stare the swordsman down.

"Pretty."

"What?" Felix tosses his head to look at him, hair whipping behind him in a motion he can only imagine looks rather, well, "pretty".

"Your hair. It's pretty." Sylvain mumbles. "You're pretty."

Felix wants to roll his eyes. Another empty compliment that he throws at women to try and make them bend over backwards and swoon over him. For some reason, it pulls something in his chest. As if possessed, he walks to the edge of Sylvain's bed, then sits next to him. Sylvain is _still_ staring at him, eyes soft, eyelashes casting gentle shadows on his cheekbones. The lighting in the room is the same as it was a few nights ago, warm with its gentle glow, and it's making Sylvain look like something Felix could only dream about.

This atmosphere is strange. Sylvain is so, so close to him, but Felix can't seem to make his legs move to get up and run away. They're sitting so close that their hips are touching, Sylvain's warm body radiating and making Felix feel as though he has a fever.

"Looks like a few drinks loosened you up, after all." Sylvain chuckles, his hand snaking its way to Felix's neck. Every single touch from the redhead feels like he's casting a fire spell at him. "Your cheeks are all pink, heh. So cute, Felix."

Sylvain is drunk. _He's_ drunk, albeit not near as much. If Felix were one of Sylvain's female flings, he can't imagine what they would have done at this point. He doesn't _want_ to imagine, because he _isn't_ one of his flings, and he _isn't_ a woman, he's merely Sylvain's friend -- best friend, even -- but not someone Sylvain would get drunk alongside with the intention of doing things to him he'd rather keep a hazy memory about. He isn't that. He isn't anything but Sylvain's friend, and he intends to keep it like that, to keep lying to himself that he _isn't_ absolutely, undeniably in love --

Calloused hands run through Felix's hair -- then, without warning, Sylvain surges forward, locking Felix in an open-mouthed kiss.

Felix doesn't have time to react, not that his hazy brain would allow him to in the first place. Everything is warm suddenly, and Felix can't seem to close his eyes. He melts into it quickly, grunting into Sylvain's mouth when he feels the other's tongue against his. Those hands entangled in his loose hair move up, fingers pressing sensitively on Felix's scalp.

It's heated, messy, and uncalculated. Felix has no idea what he's doing -- Sylvain is the one with experience here, and despite being drunk, he seems to know exactly how to flick his tongue to get Felix to feel even warmer. As their lips smack together, Felix groggily decides that he should probably do something with his hands. He settles on wrapping them around Sylvain's neck, deepening the kiss, if that were even possible. Every slip of Sylvain's tongue touches what feels like thousands of nerves in Felix's mouth, causing his body to shift into hypersensitivity. It's too intense, he needs to pull away and run away -- but it's also too much of everything he's wanted for so long.

Sylvain is the one to part first. His cheeks are flushed, eyes unsteady. His hair is somehow even more of a mess than usual, though Felix can't recall ever touching it. It takes them both a minute to catch their breaths in order to say anything.

Felix can just barely make out a hint of guilt in his friend's eyes. He won't make eye contact with him -- and Felix is finding it difficult to look at him, as well.

"Sorry," Sylvain breathes, "I... I couldn't help myself. You just..." He keeps trailing off, dazed, unable to find the right words. "You look stunning with your hair down."

It's meant to be a compliment, Felix knows. In spite of the lingering fuzziness in his head, he can still assume Sylvain thinks that because he looks more feminine. For now, he'll accept it. He doesn't have the brain power to take it as anything else.

It's quiet for a long moment after that. Sylvain's eyes are still hazy, clouded over with desire. Felix can only imagine his own are the same as he cards a hand through Sylvain's tousled hair, kissing him through the bravery of inebriation once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda cut short because i wasn't sure what to do at the last moment there ahahaha surely we'll resolve it in the next chapter right? right? someone please tell me because even i don't know


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof alright kind of a boring eventless chapter but! SYLVAIN POV!!! WHY? I DON'T KNOW, I FELT LIKE IT!!! enjoy...... lord only knows what is to come, say a prayer for these boys

There's a familiar empty spot next to Sylvain as he forces his eyes awake. He squints through the harsh light crashing into his room, blinking to adjust his vision. The emptiness beside him is nothing new, but it feels warm here for some reason. Did he finally manage to get a girl in here after so long? How much of a stupor did he drink himself into so that he can't even remember who she was or if she existed to begin with?  
  
He brings a hand up to his sore head. Slowly, he recalls some of the events from the previous evening. Sparring with Felix, check. Having a drink with Felix, check. Was it just Felix? Through the course of the night, was he able to hook Felix up with someone, alongside getting with someone himself?  
  
That hardly seems possible. Felix is stubborn as ever when it comes to being coaxed into dating. Maybe it was just the two of them, yes, the more Sylvain focuses, the more he remembers. It was them, alone. Sylvain wanted to treat his buddy to a good time -- it seemed like he hadn't had a good time for awhile now.  
  
As his fingertips drag down the dip in his bed, he manages to sit up. His head thrums a bit with the headache, but he shakes it off. He notices something lying on the floor at his feet.  
  
_Felix's coat, huh? He must've left it here last night. How long did he stay? Did he...?_  
  
Sylvain shakes his head, mind still foggy. He'll surely get scolded by _someone_ if he leaves and complains about a hangover if he goes out, so he pulls himself together and gets dressed -- most of his armor left in the corner of the room. He picks up the jacket by the fur of the hood and makes his way to Felix's dorm.  
  
It's still early. The sun is bright outside but Sylvain has doesn't see many other folks roaming the dormitory. He taps his knuckles a few times on the wood of Felix's door.  
  
A grumble. Some shuffling.  
  
"What do you want?" Muffled, Felix's voice still sounds poisonous.  
  
_Sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,_ Sylvain thinks. Then, aloud, "You aren't even going to ask who's there?"  
  
"Sylvain?" He questions. It seems like all the toxicity in his voice has faded. "Uh, come in."  
  
Someone must be moody this early in the morning. Sylvain assumes Felix probably has a bit of a hangover, too. Hesitantly, he opens the door and catches Felix in the middle of pulling his hair up.  
  
"You left this in my room last night," Sylvain says, jutting his arms out to hand the other his coat, "It's not like you to just leave things lying around. You must've been pretty out of it, huh?"  
  
Felix won't look at him. The expression on his face isn't angry, but he doesn't look like he's struggling with a headache or anything. His eyes just won't meet his gaze.  
  
"Thanks," he says, grabbing the article without facing toward Sylvain.  
  
"Something up?" Sylvain cocks his head and leans against the door frame.  
  
"No."  
  
"If you say so. It doesn't look like you're suffering at all but, man! I must've went pretty hard last night, right?" He puts a hand to his head. "I feel like my head's splitting."  
  
Felix turns his back completely to him, pulling his overcoat on. "Don't be dramatic."  
  
"Harsh!" Sylvain says, chuckling a bit. Maybe it was dramatic to whine about a minor hangover -- but this atmosphere feels awkward. He wants to know what happened, considering the alcohol he drank seems to have swallowed any short term memory he had. "So, where'd you go last night?"  
  
The swordsman visibly tenses up. "Nowhere. I took you to your room because you had enough, then I came here."  
  
"Really? I didn't get anyone else wasted with me, then?"  
  
"No. I drank a little with you, but..." He trails off, "You passed out as soon as I got you to your bed."  
  
Sylvain feels a significant weight off his shoulders. He's relieved -- no type of guilt could sting harder than messing around with a girl while intoxicated. In addition, he's glad Felix is okay. He thinks.  
  
"So no wild parties?" He jests.  
  
"As if I'd let you get away with that." Felix scoffs. He finally turns to face him, but those sharp burgundy eyes still won't meet his own. Felix isn't one for making eye contact to begin with, but he seems... unreasonably dodgy.  
  
"Did I say something dumb last night?" Sylvain finally asks. "You're kinda acting like you do when you're _really_ mad at me."  
  
"You always do dumb shit when you're drunk, so that's a stupid question," Felix says as he collects a sword from the corner of his room and pushes past him into the hall, "But no. Nothing in particular. I'm going to train."  
  
Sylvain's hand subconsciously reaches out to grab his shoulder. "Ah, wait! You just woke up. How about we get some tea? I don't know how your head feels, but I could definitely use something to soothe mine."  
  
Felix pauses -- Sylvain fully expects him to flat out reject him, he doesn't seem in a mood to really talk to anyone -- he's been like that for so long now. It just seems... like it's worsening. He's not doing any better, not that Sylvain can see. Opening up to his feelings was a difficult thing for Felix, and Sylvain always tries his damndest to urge -- but not force -- those feelings out of him. To express himself emotionally, to ask for help when he needed it.  
  
If only Sylvain were good at any of those things, either. Maybe he'd be better help if he wasn't such a hypocrite.  
  
"I'll pass." Felix shrugs his hand off and walks away.  
  
Well, better to expect it than to be disappointed. He's wildly, profoundly, _painfully_ disappointed anyway. 

* * *

During the war council meeting, Felix doesn't talk to him. He shares strategies -- the maniacally dangerous-seeming ones that are actually genius --with Byleth and the group in general, but never addresses Sylvain directly. He sits as far away as he possibly can away from him without taking Dimitri and Byleth's reserved seats. Sylvain does not get even so much as recognition when he walks in or a wave of Felix's hand when he walks out.  
  
It is far more crushing than any time he's been turned down by a woman. It is far more heartbreaking than any literal break-ups he's been through. The worst of it all -- he doesn't know _why_.  
  
Sylvain manages to catch Ingrid on her way out. Maybe she knows something, anything about the way Felix is acting.  
  
"Hey, uh. Do you have any idea what's up with Felix? He won't talk to me." He rubs the back of his neck nervously.  
  
Ingrid stops to think for a second. "No, I don't. Isn't this normal, though?" Her expression saddens. "He's always been broody and distant. Maybe he's just enforced it more since... well, you know. I noticed it, too, but he wouldn't open up to me."  
  
Sylvain knows. He spoke to Felix just after Rodrigue had been killed -- Felix deals with his feelings toward death in a non-conventional way. It isn't necessarily that he bottles them up, it's different. In what way, and how, Sylvain isn't sure, but when Felix said he would live on in his place and fulfill things that he couldn't do, there was no sorrow in his eyes. Only determination and willpower.  
  
"I don't think that's it," Sylvain says, "It's... it's something else. We had a good time together yesterday -- well, sort of, Felix almost got stabbed by this crazy girlfriend of mine, but --"  
  
Ingrid's jaw drops. "He _what_?"  
  
Sylvain throws up his hands and waves them around dismissively. "He's fine, it was fine! I came to his rescue! It's not that, I know it's not. ...Maybe."  
  
The pegasus knight sighs, hand on her forehead. "You're hopeless, even when it comes to friendship. He really won't talk to you? At all?"  
  
"Nope," Sylvain's joking demeanor shrinks an inch or two, "We drank together last night, I asked him what happened, and he really had nothing to say. I didn't take any girls home while drunk, at least."  
  
"That's great, Sylvain. Would you like a reward?"  
  
"Come on, I'm trying to be serious here." Sylvain pouts.  
  
"Did you say anything to him that may have set him off more than usual?" She asks.  
  
"Nothing worth mentioning, apparently." Sylvain's gaze drops to the floor. He feels like this is going nowhere fast. Perhaps he just has to be pushier to get some words out of his friend. "Clearly you don't know anything that I don't, so... I don't know. I'm gonna go look for him. If you see him, tell me, please?"  
  
"This is almost as bad as one of your flimsy lover's quarrels," Ingrid comments, "Almost tragically similar."  
  
"Ingrid, _please_."  
  
"I'll tell you, I promise." She gives Sylvain a faint smile before leaving.  
  
The words _lover's quarrel_ dance around in his head for a minute. It's true, Sylvain admits, they can act that way with each other sometimes. He never thought it was weird -- in fact, it was kind of comforting; to have someone always beside him who he could pester and no matter how annoyed or angry he got, he would still be there, still be his dear, closest friend.  
  
Something stirs in Sylvain's memory. The headache is gone, but only bits and pieces of the events from last night are surfacing. He thinks of Felix with his hair down. He saw it before, but he remembers seeing it last night, too. He looks good like that, Sylvain thinks absently.  
  
He fast walks out of the council hall and in the direction of the training grounds. Recalling the sensation of his hands in Felix's loose hair suddenly -- then, the oddly warm empty divot in the bed next to him when he awoke. Did Felix get tired from the alcohol in his system, sleep there beside him, then leave before Sylvain woke up? That would make sense. He wouldn't mind that.  
  
The more he walks among the fresh air hanging in the monastery, the more his head clears up. Felix was so close to him. He had _pulled_ him that close. His body was warm and inviting. His hair was draped down barely over his shoulders, unwashed and sweaty from the days events, but beautiful all the same. His lips were--  
  
Sylvain freezes in the middle of the cobblestone path, large door to the training grounds within sight. He tastes something, it's _insanely_ vague, but it feels foreign in his mouth. The hollow memory of someone else's tongue in his mouth is familiar, but this one was _too_ familiar.  
  
He doesn't think twice before sprinting toward that door just meters ahead of him.


End file.
